The Art Class
by Viciously Witty
Summary: A study of paint and peaches. Jareth takes an art class or four times Sarah was naked in front of the Goblin King.


**AN:** This plot bunny came from a bit of throw-away back story I gave to Sarah in Tanglewood – about her mother's photograph. Unable to wholly let it go I wrote this instead. It's not related to Tanglewood (nor Goblin Market) and is a stand-alone one-shot. This is a change for me. It's lighter than the stuff I usually prefer (though it wouldn't completely qualify as fluff I think?). Normally I'm all about the UST and slow burn and it takes eleventy billion chapters to get one of my characters naked in front of the other. This is like… the exact opposite of that. You've been warned. There is adult-type touching ahead.

Oh and it's complete, which means *shockingly* not waiting on me for an update.

* * *

 _Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth_  
 **Pablo Picasso**

It was during her third session that she decided to use the peach.

From the beginning she'd been encouraged to get as creative as she wanted with her poses and experiment with any props in the room. The first class she'd spent the majority of the session vacillating between trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt, and wishing she'd chosen a more comfortable pose - one that she could maintain without cramping for the full hour.

The second session she'd chosen an easier pose but was still battling the natural instinct to cover up. She'd never been naked with anyone other than a lover before. And Jennifer Wilson once but that had been to settle a bet in ninth grade. Getting undressed and sex made sense, and though it didn't preclude a few nascent insecurities, generally she wasn't alone in her vulnerability. All hang ups were forgotten when the adult type touching began.

Certainly she'd never been naked in a room of fully-clothed strangers intent on putting her nakedness to paper. _Paint me like one of your French girls, Jack._

It had been a whim.

Although that wasn't entirely true. She'd never been particularly modest nor particularly brazen either. She knew she was conventionally beautiful – she'd heard it enough. But ultimately she considered herself a faded copy of her mother – like a photograph that had been reproduced one too many times. As beautiful maybe but lacking the spark. Sarah glanced at the art print on the wall. It showed a half-dressed woman lying across the lap of a strikingly handsome man. The man held a theatre mask loosely in one hand. The women held a similar mask in a strategic place to spare it being labelled pornography.

The woman was her mother.

The man was the acclaimed stage actor her mother had run off with, turning her young world upside down.

It was a famous enough photograph that some boys in her high school had found it and brought it to class in tenth grade. They'd showed it to as many people as they could. The resemblance was already strong at fifteen and Linda Williams had kept her married name even after the divorce, preventing the ability to deny. A few seniors had asked if her tits were as big. One asked if they could see them. Another had tried. Hitting him had been so satisfying she had never quite forgotten the feeling.

She'd never forgotten the print either. The face hers mirrored so closely. The expression was so striking - alluring and vulnerable at the same time. Powerful. She'd been more captivated by the face than the nudity – though she supposed she wasn't a teenaged boy and it was her mother.

And so, as fate likes a joke, years later she found herself naked in an art room; the picture of her mother on the wall across from her as she tried to echo that confidence. Surely the psychology students would have something to say about that. The indelicate snort Sarah failed to smother made her breasts move slightly. Amazing how being in naked in front of artists gave one a whole new perspective on the human body.

She hadn't set out to pose nude but when she'd taken an art class for fun to get the whole university experience, she'd been brought face to face with that picture again. A piece of a photography exhibit. One of many erotic images and yet the only one she saw.

Sarah didn't particularly want to be like Linda Williams. She'd matured enough to carve her own niche and find her own brand of fire. She'd also made peace with the fact that her mother had left. She could appreciate, if not agree, with her mother's rather ruthless willingness to trade anything for her dreams. Sarah didn't share her fantasy of being famous – academia was about as far as one could get – but she planned to make her own mark.

The linchpin had finally been one too many drinks and a promise. A request to pose for a friend's art class. Never one to back down, even if alcohol was a factor, she followed through on her words. It was her third session and she was naked, draped across a platform, holding a peach.

The first two times she'd been too out of her element to consider a prop. By the third the embarrassment had muted enough that she could get creative. Apart from one man she recognized from her TA group, causing a moment of mutual awkwardness, the artists were strangers. It was a big university and they were more intent on their canvasses and charcoal than they were on who she was. It was, she found, the perfect mix. She could be the star and remain anonymous. No name attached.

When she saw the bowl of fruit, the voracious reader in her immediately thought of Eve… of Persephone. Of women offered fruit at their peril, or offering in turn. When she noticed the _golden-papped_ peach, she thought of Rossetti. And then she immediately thought of him.

Chewing her lip on a half-smile she took it anyway.

She held the fruit in such a way, or so she hoped, that she was either about to eat it or was tempting someone else. The devil and the saint. The virgin and the whore. A trope well known in brush and pen. Her long legs were stretched to the side, her other arm propping her up comfortably. Her dark hair, still long, was spread across her shoulders; a few strands contrasting against the white expanse of her breasts.

Posing gave one time to think. She hadn't really thought of him in quite some time. She'd carefully boxed all of _that fantasy_ with the toys and trinkets she'd stuck in the attic when she'd moved away for university. Ten years of nothing extraordinary happening had a way of making one almost forget. Childish imagination replaced by the reality of adulthood. Deadlines and dates. Bills and broken hearts.

Still… holding the velvet softness of the peach made her think of him and, for a brief but, later she'd find, very dangerous moment, she wondered what he'd think if he could see her now.

The last time she'd been given a peach she'd been an overwhelmed girl on the cusp of womanhood. Out of her league and beyond her measure. Vulnerable. Innocent. Determined. Lying on the platform she was the epitome of womanhood and power. Her own power. The recognition brought a rather enigmatic expression to her face. One that if she'd had a mirror, would have far outshone the photograph on the wall.

Sarah wasn't sure what made her look up. Generally she tried not to look at the artists, keeping her eyes unfocused until they all sort of blurred into one. But scanning across the easels, one figure came into sharp relief. Dressed all in grey, a pair of fitted dress pants beneath an immaculately pressed shirt - the collar open one too many buttons - perched a lithe male body she immediately recognized. His gloved hands moved across the canvass, lightly clutching a thin piece of charcoal. A long neck stretched into a sharply angled face. The hair was a silvery blonde, not wild now, but tousled in waves and just long enough to brush his collar. His brows were thin and sharp but altogether human and free of any markings. His eyes though had not changed and could never be mistaken.

Sarah swallowed deeply, her breasts bobbing again with the movement. He smiled, thin lips dipping, and those eyes honed in on her face.

And then he winked.

It took every ounce of will she had to remain on that dais.

 _My will is as strong as yours…_

… _Well maybe not when my tits are hanging out._

She closed her eyes, imagining that she was hallucinating. When she opened them again he'd be gone.

But of course he never did anything she really wanted. Like give her back her brother. Or go spontaneously blind when she wanted him to.

His eyes were back on the canvass, though his mouth retained its hint of amusement. She could see now that his shirt sleeves were rolled up, though he wore black leather gloves. His forearms were smooth and lightly toned. In the folds of his shirt, she saw chain against his pale chest. Even without his other adornments he still looked otherworldly and out of place in the small art room.

She'd certainly never expected to be naked in front of him.

Well, that wasn't strictly true either. Sarah felt the small flush, which had started at her neck, spread into a full deep blush. She hoped it wasn't overtly noticeable until she saw one of the girls, who'd been working in pastels, huff and reach for a red.

 _Dear God, just take me away right now._

When she glanced back at him he was watching her again, a brow raised in invitation as though he'd heard her silent prayer. She shook her head minutely. He offered her an unrepentent smirk, his eyes roving over her body so slowly they might have been fingers.

Despite the heat of her embarrassment, she felt her nipples tighten in response. The girl in front huffed again and began rubbing her canvass with a rag.

 _Not fair._

The smirk deepened.

By the time the instructor called for people to wrap it up for the day and handed Sarah a silk robe, she had invented approximately eleventy billion ways in which to murder the Goblin King. She imagined parades thrown by the goblins in her honour for overthrowing their despot monarch. She imagined his head on a pike in the bog – a warning to all other goblin kings never to take an art class. She'd also imagined him likewise naked, just briefly in the midst of all the carnage, but she tried not to focus on that little slip.

She deftly tied the robe in a knot that would have impressed Toby's Boy Scouts. Her clothes were in a bag in the corner, next to a small curtained changing area. Even artists understood there was something vulnerable and intimate about undressing. The room had cleared out quickly, quicker than usual in fact, until Sarah was deeply aware without looking up that she was alone in the room with the Goblin King.

Never one to put off the inevitable she looked up. He was still perched, one leg propped on the stool's rung and the other stretched out, as though he had all the time in the world and nowhere better to be.

His eyes were on her face but he made no move to speak.

She took her time to fully peruse him, since he had done nothing but the same.

It was strange to see him so unassuming and if she'd ever pictured meeting him again, she'd imagined storm and winds and magic – like some dark creature of fantasy.

"You look different," she said finally.

His head dipped in silent amusement. "As do you. Though I suppose I don't have a _complete_ basis for comparison."

Sarah fought the urge to deflect. "Enjoy yourself?"

"Assuredly," he countered, the same bold look dancing in his eyes.

"Why are you here? Now? Not enough naked ladies wandering around the Underground, you have to creep about up here?" She could hear the waspishness flood her tone but didn't care.

"There are," those thin lips twitched, " _naked ladies_ to be found aplenty, but none of them are you, Sarah. Imagine my surprise."

Sarah frowned at that. "Don't play games. You came here to embarrass me." She didn't add _after vanishing for ten years._

He canted his head, one brow raised. "Are you embarrassed? Why?"

"No… yes." _I am now._ "Why are you here?"

"To practice my drawing. I'm not sure I've quite perfected that skill."

Sarah scoffed, "I don't believe you have any interest in art."

"I'm not sure you know me well enough to presume my interests. And I suddenly find myself very interested in art indeed."

He lifted his satchel – the easel now empty - Sarah realized he must have his canvass in the bag. Her likeness in the bag. The thought irritated her to no end.

"But why are you really here? Why now?"

At that he stood and fully smiled over uneven teeth. "Because you invited me."

"I did no such thing!" Beneath her outraged conviction there was a pebble of doubt.

"Oh, but you did. You thought of me." He stepped forward and deftly pulled the peach from her hand. She'd forgotten she'd still been clutching it. He danced it like a crystal across his fingers. "Really thought of me, in a way you haven't since… well since a long while." There was something in his tone that bordered on vulnerable but Sarah wouldn't consider it until later. "And you, for a moment anyway, _wished_ me to see you. I didn't know quite how much." There was no mocking in his voice but she felt another sting of irritation nonetheless and it must have mirrored on her face. "I'm not complaining, Sarah."

She shook her head in disbelief. "But you have no power over me."

"Yes, I was quite sure you'd remind me," he remarked dryly. "And a pity that. But it seems you have power enough over me. Enough to invite me here."

"Well… you came, now you've seen," she refused to acknowledge any more shame. "So thanks for coming. Take care. Best of luck."

"I came, I saw, I-"

"You left," Sarah finished quickly.

"I don't recall the line ending that way. And I see no reason to leave now, not when you so kindly opened the door and welcomed me in."

In all the ways she might have ever expected to encounter him again, this had not been it. She felt off balance and unprepared. "Allow me to _kindly_ close the door then."

"You can certainly try." There was something darker in his tone – a challenge - and Sarah took an uncertain step back.

"You can't have Toby."

Jareth eyed her boredly. "I'm not particularly interested in your brother."

"What do you want then?"

Jareth rolled the downy peach across his fingers again. "At this moment or in general?" Sarah was suddenly sorry she asked. He must have seen it in her face because he laughed again. "Let's say to draw then. This is an art class."

Sarah's frown deepened. "You're not a student here."

"I could be many things, Sarah. Have a drink with me. We can catch up as old friends do."

His casual invitation caught her off guard. "We aren't friends… and I have another class. Economics," she added quickly, wondering if he supposed she spent her whole day naked with a bowl of fruit.

Those thin lips twitched again. "Pity. As I said, I could be many things. More than what you think me. But I suppose for now it will be artist to your," he thought for a moment and then smiled, those pointed teeth gleaming, "muse. Until next week." He took a bite of the peach, a small trickle of juice sliding down his chin, and strolled out of the room like he was merely a student heading to his next class, the art bag over his shoulder.

When she peered into the hall he was gone.

* * *

That night she finished all the wine in her fridge.

She kept expecting him to show up in her apartment in a poof of glitter. When he didn't she wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. By her fourth glass she'd almost, though not completely, convinced herself it hadn't happened at all. It might have been academic burnout. She'd heard of students who'd completely lost it while completing their degree. Or right before exams. Or after meeting Goblin Kings whilst completely naked.

The idea was so surreal that she could, if she squinted and aided by what turned out to be copious amount of liquid courage, pretend it hadn't happened at all.

Until the morning of the next art class.

She chalked her unending state of nerves to too much coffee. She wondered if she might be getting sick and then considered she should perhaps cancel. But the idea of running away - from nothing because it hadn't happened – was alien to her. She was braver than that – her will was…

She wondered if she could have a drink with breakfast.

The walk down the hall felt like a death row march. Either she quit the class or she continued it. Neither option was entirely palatable. Her hand paused on the door handle. Left or right. Up or down.

 _You're screwed either way._

If she continued, he might be there. If she quit, she'd have quit because of him and that was a surrender. She glanced at her watch and realized she was already late. If she continued, he might not be there because it didn't happen. And… if he was he'd seen it all before anyway. Too late now. The thought was far from comforting but she turned the handle anyway.

He wasn't there.

The rest of the students were still fiddling with their mediums, some idly sketching. A few offered her friendly smiles of greeting. Nothing personal. Definitely no smirks.

Sarah exhaled in relief, nodded apologetically at her friend and slipped to the back of the room to change. When she emerged from behind the curtain, she was feeling more collected. She walked to the front of the room quickly and stepped onto the platform, shrugging off her robe.

She wasn't sure what made her glance over her shoulder, perhaps it was the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. When she did, her eyes met his and locked.

 _Shifty bastard._

Her hands froze, the robe still half draped around her and swallowed thickly.

His eyes dared her.

And then she turned away, straightened her spine and let it drop. She got into a position quickly, choosing to keep her back to his side of the room so that she could pretend he didn't exist. Since he wasn't obliging enough not to. Her cat liked to do the same thing and it certainly seemed to work for the fur ball.

The position brought her face to face with the bowl of fruit, which, _of course_ , was filled with nothing but ripe peaches. It was at that same moment she realized that by turning away she'd merely presented him with a completely new view. She wondered if asses blushed, and glanced at the girl in front using colour pastels for any kind of confirmation.

The hour passed as slowly as one of Toby's clarinet recitals. Sarah busied herself with considering all of the great literary female characters who had exacted revenge on their enemies.

Miss Havisham was the penultimate ball breaker. Chiomara knew what to do, but then again the Greeks were the best at revenge. Mattie Ross did more at fourteen than most accomplished ever. Well, she herself had sort of sacked a city at fifteen. Boudicca -another woman who knew how to level a town and destroy her enemies. Even the Paper Bag Princess told it like was, arrogant overly fastidious princes be damned.

Of course Sarah had a king to contend with. And the only bum in question was the one currently being sketched. Hers.

She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder until the class was over. When she sat up stiffly and retrieved her robe, he was already gone as though he'd never been there at all.

* * *

Another week gone by, this time much faster with intense deadlines overhead. Wine was replaced with coffee.

When she walked into the studio, punctually, she was neither surprised nor relieved to see no sign of him. Another bowl of peaches awaited her. She toyed with one, idly rolling it across the platform, while she waited for the class to fill. When her friend closed and locked the door she dropped it back in the bowl and stretched into position, this time reclining on her back, allowing the platform to support most of her weight and prop her upper body up. She was physically and mentally exhausted and was feeling neither vulnerable nor empowered. It wasn't the most creative position but it still exposed the angles and curves the artists preferred.

When she glanced over to the side of the room she was neither surprised nor outraged to see him seated at the ready. He'd never had any respect for time. Or physics. She decided to ignore him.

Her breasts didn't listen.

Despite the warmth of the room, always a few degrees warmer for the comfort of the models, she could feel her nipples tighten. A normal biological function. Like sleep. Something she hadn't enjoyed much of lately. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was so she didn't have to focus, rather than because she was avoiding him.

She wasn't sure if it was because she was exhausted, but somehow having her eyes closed was worse. Her other senses kicked into overdrive. She could hear each scratch of charcoal against canvass like was it beside her ear. The scent of oil and turpentine that always permeated the studio was present, but softer and subtler, and lingering just beneath it was ripe peaches. The last time a peach had smelled so good she'd ended up in a ballroom.

Worse was the sensation of being watched. She imagined it must be the latent animal part of her brain that allowed prey to sense predator. Every nerve in her body was at alert, every hair prickled to awareness. She imagined her skin was pebbled by goosebumps. And still she could feel eyes on her, tracing over every hill and valley. Delving into every hollow and recess. The feeling was so real it might have been a brush stroking across her body. Or a hand. Her heart beat too loudly in her ears.

She opened her eyes warily, but he was still in place, his face intent on his work. Perhaps feeling her eyes on him, he looked up. There was no mockery in his expression; no laughter in his mouth. But his eyes were dark and not at all human.

She felt her lips part, a light breath escaping.

Those owl eyes deepened.

Dampness pooled between her thighs.

When the class ended, she drew on the robe and went immediately to change. When she emerged, intent on leaving before they'd all packed up, she was only half surprised to see the room empty save for him.

He was dressed again in slim dress pants and a matching fitted shirt, collar open in a way that would have been off putting in another man. It all looked expensive and well-tailored.

Sarah adjusted the strap of her dress. She supposed she could turn and walk right out the door, but it seemed somehow both too rude and the wisest course of action.

"I won't stop you."

Sarah had the grace to look embarrassed. He sounded amused and not insulted. Later she'd consider he'd said _won't_ not _can't_.

"How are… is… everyone?" It seemed a neutral question.

The amusement deepened. "Have a drink with me and I'll tell you."

Sarah sighed. "I'm…"

"Tired," he supplied smoothly.

"School," she waved a hand. "Work," she added when the first made her feel childish. "Just a drink, Sarah. Between old enemies."

"I don't think of you as an enemy."

A brow raised. "But not friends either."

"I don't think of you at all," she bristled back and then winced at the evident lie. "Much anyway."

"Now that is the truth. And all the more reason to share a drink. Perhaps you can decide what I am."

She acknowledged his challenge. "You're the Goblin King." _I know what you are capable of._ I haven't forgotten. "Yes, I'll have a drink with you _." I've only gotten stronger._

She glanced inadvertently at the print of her mother on the wall. Jareth's eyes followed and a brow raised again.

"Let's go. I have an assignment to revise tonight." She hurried out of the room, not waiting to see if he was following.

She led him to one of the on campus cafés. It had a steady supply of mostly student customers but it wasn't one of the busier ones. It had quaint overstuffed chairs and old books on shelves. Their coffee was good and their scones better. She secured a small table close to the back, in a mostly empty section. A waiter came to take their order. Sarah ordered a latte and a scone. Jareth asked for the same.

"I wasn't sure if other people could see you." Jareth's lips twitched. "No one seems to notice you arrive late to class."

"Other than you, you mean."

She looked at him askance and then smoothly replied. "Keeping tabs on the enemy." Her own mouth threatened a smile.

"Others can see me. I just don't particularly care if they do, so they don't really notice."

"Other than me."

"Mmm. Though you seem particularly vested not to oblige."

"The models don't need to look at the artist," she deflected.

"Then perhaps we'll have to exchange roles."

Sarah started and then laughed. "I'm not much of an artist."

"Who said you had to draw, we were talking of looking."

She was spared a response by the arrival of their order. She pulled her wallet from her bag but the Goblin King was too quick and handed the waiter several bills, generously tipping him, and waving him away with an implicit look not to come back.

"I would have paid. That money's not going to disappear is it? The waiters work hard for their tips."

"You wound me, Sarah. No, it's not going to disappear and I invited you. When you invite me you can return the favour."

Sarah snorted, but then added a remembered 'thanks.'

"You'll have to admit this is all very unsettling for me," she said when they'd both sampled the fare.

"Really? It's been rather rewarding to me."

"Still, you'll admit I'm at a disadvantage."

"I'd call it more an advantage. You have a room captivated by your very presence."

She snorted again. "Not really my presence. I could be anyone. It's just a body to draw."

"Not to me."

Their eyes met and then she looked away again. "That's precisely the issue."

"That's its unfair? I already offered to rectify that. Rather generously really."

Sarah laughed and took another sip.

"Why are you doing this if it's nothing more than a body? Does it have to do with the woman in the photograph who bears, I must say, a rather striking resemblance to you? Handsome fellow aside."

Sarah put her coffee cup down a little roughly. "My mother as you've no doubt discerned. Yes, we look alike. And no, I'd rather not discuss that you've now seen both me and my mother naked."

The waiter, who'd been heading to a nearby table almost dropped his tray.

Jareth grinned. "You've got much nicer breasts."

Sarah choked on her scone.

"Hedgewort is fine," he added affably.

"Hoggle," Sarah answered by rote, her face still pinched.

"Yes, it's not as fun when he's not around to hear it is it?"

"One of these days you'll find something better to do than torment your subjects."

"I have recently discovered an interest in drawing."

"Well I hope there are classes in the underground, because next week is my last. I only agreed to six and while it's been new and… different, I'm not continuing."

"Pity. Poor Hoghead then."

"You could show mercy you know."

"He lives doesn't he?" the king replied diffidently. He watched her above the rim of his cup. "For someone so unsettled by this you are handling it remarkably well."

"Did you expect me to run away?"

"Something like that." She half thought he sounded disappointed. Like he might have relished the chase.

"Part of me wanted me to but what would have been the point?" He smiled at that. "I'm a grown woman and you're not the first man to see me naked."

"Not even the only one today."

Sarah pulled a face. "Getting naked with a lover is very different than posing for a class."

"I agree. I'm just wondering how they share."

"They? Is that your way of angling for an exact number or asking if I have a boyfriend?"

Jareth merely offered a half smile. "Ten years is a long time to mortals. I half thought to find you married with your own children." He sounded pleased he hadn't.

Sarah took a moment to collect herself. She wasn't sure she could process how she'd ended up discussing her love life with the Goblin King. "Firstly, I'm not anyone's to share. I'm my own. No I'm not married and don't have children. One day maybe. Probably. And… no, there is no particular man at the moment, but in the past yes and in the future no doubt."

"And they were very fortunate no doubt. I wonder how they earned your trust." There was something darker edging along this words that made Sarah feel a sudden spike of power.

"Are you… jealous?"

"Of boys who didn't have the means to keep you?" He clicked his tongue. "Hardly."

" _Men_. And maybe I didn't keep them."

"Then you showed excellent taste."

"You didn't have the means to keep me." She couldn't presume to know what had possessed her to say it but the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. Not unlike the Labyrinth. She let the words lie.

He chuckled. "I thought we were speaking of lovers."

Sarah reddened.

Those crooked teeth gleamed again. "And perhaps I haven't really tried."

She scoffed, "So your offer to give me everything was what? Your B game? You tried. I won."

"I did try." There was something left unspoken. "Though I wouldn't have known what to do with you. Too old to turn, too young to keep." Jareth's lids lowered. "The latter is no longer true."

Sarah fidgeted and then straightened again. "You're right that I'm now a grown woman. I'm working on my PhD. I have a very promising career started. I plan to travel. I'm happy. Dreams change and I found that you can make some of them come true without wishes."

"I never had any doubt of that." There was a wistful note in his voice that made Sarah shift again. "You haven't changed in so many ways. Your spirit is the same."

"You sound surprised."

"Contrary to what you think I've haven't spent ten years spying on you. I do have a kingdom to run."

"Babies to steal."

"Sarah…"

"Sorry." She watched him eat his scone and drink his coffee, still marvelling at the fact she was sharing a meal with the Goblin King. If it weren't for the gloves and the necklace, he might have been anybody. Any distinctively attractive man with a strange enigmatic presence.

As if hearing her thoughts, his smile widened just a fraction until it threatened to become a smirk.

"Why are you here?" The question was soft and unexpected, and the smile changed again until it too was softer and unexpected.

"Because you let me in, Sarah, and I was curious."

"And what are you now?"

"That is for you to decide. Not a friend," he parroted her words. "Not an enemy either." His lips bowed.

"That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it," he feigned innocence. "Intrigued … to name one. And what are you?"

"Me?" She took a sip – the coffee had grown cold - and then set her mug down. "I don't know. I'm Sarah." It sounded stupid as soon as she said it but Jareth merely nodded.

"Yes."

Their coffee finished, their scones only crumbs. The atmosphere was comfortable but laden with enough that Sarah couldn't let the silence last. "So… what will you do now?"

Jareth folded his legs gracefully and sat back with an arm draped, like a king in his throne rather than a man in a coffee shop. "I'm in no particular rush to leave."

"I am. I have revisions to do, but that's not what I mean."

"I know."

"I should go."

"Probably." His expression suggested otherwise.

She rose, turned and then turned back. "How long…" She'd been about to ask how long he was staying. If her inadvertent invitation had been permanent, but she trailed off.

"Next week," he answered, standing as well. "Since it is your last class and your particular invitation to see you was specific. Magic has… rules," he finished distastefully. "Even for me."

"And then?" She wasn't sure if we was relieved or disappointed. It was a reoccurring feeling around him.

"And then I go back to the Underground and you keep fulfilling your dreams. Travelling, writing, marriage, children." The same note had crept into his tone.

"I won't see you again?" She wasn't sure what her tone conveyed.

A glint in his eye. "Not unless you need a babysitter."

Sarah laughed. "Let's hope it never comes to that."

"Indeed," he said soberly, as though he did not relish the thought. "And then death. You're lives are briefer than a fairy's." There was no malice in his words, only something like regret.

Sarah's own expression cleared. "You make it sound so prosaic. You know..." words failed her as she suddenly found herself closer to him, the table no longer separating them. "This," she gestured between them, "is not quite what I expected."

"What did you expect? A villain?"

Sarah gave a half smile of admission. "I don't know." It was almost an apology.

"You didn't make any missteps and even villains have to play by the rules. Magic," he sighed.

She smiled but couldn't tell if he was joking. His face was once again shuttered.

"You could see them again, you know?"

She inhaled sharply. She didn't need to ask who. "And what would that cost?"

"I can be generous." He wasn't entirely lying.

"I was careful not to think of them. Of you," she said slowly.

"Indeed."

"You'll forget me." She meant one day. Before or after her bones turned to ash.

"Perhaps."

She shook her head. "I need to go."

"Run away, Sarah."

"I… thanks for the coffee. And I'm not running anywhere." It was only partially a lie.

Jareth stood in the doorway and watched her hurry away, a smile forming on his face.

* * *

 _One eye sees, the other feels.  
_ **Paul Klee**

That week she thought of him a lot. She thought of him when she was revising her thesis. She thought of him when she was grading papers and then found she'd drawn a spiral Labyrinth in the margins. She thought of him when she sipped her morning coffee. She thought of him when she lay alone in bed, empty since her last relationship had ended amicably enough - the feelings simply muting with time and indifference. At least on her part.

When the art class finally rolled around again, she found herself both more relaxed and more nervous than ever before. Her stomach was a roiling. She also wasn't sure how she felt about it being the last time she would see him.

This time when she opened the door, he was already there – dressed impeccably stylish but still mostly human. Except for his eyes. They had faint lines, like the marks were just beneath the skin and begging to be freed. His hair too was somewhat wilder, ready to escape the confines of normalcy. He didn't look up.

Sarah hurried to the back and changed, the sound of paper flipping and idle chatter a steady din. She was pleased to be done the sessions. Her schedule didn't afford her much freedom and what she did have she didn't relish spending still for hours.

When she got to the front of the room, she saw that the fruit bowl was empty save for one impossible ripe and luscious peach. She glanced at him but his focus was still on his canvass.

She dropped her robe and picked the soft fruit up as she got into position. This time she sat up, one hand propping her body weight up behind her, and one leg bent to the side. It would not be a wholly comfortable position to maintain but she hadn't done it before and this time, her last time, she wanted to see the room.

Taking the fruit with her other hand, she took a bite. The flavour was as impressive as its presentation. Soft, sweet flesh with a hint of spice. Summer in a sphere. The juice ran down her chin, and after a moment's indecision, she let it, dropping her hand holding the bitten peach down to her thigh. The nectar made a slow trail down her neck, and into the valley of her breasts.

Jareth watched its descent as it marked a trail down to her navel, pooling for a moment, before falling further still into the neatly trimmed thatch between her thighs. His lips parted.

When he looked back up his eyes were dark with something darker still in his expression. And then they traced the path again, beginning with her mouth. Sarah felt her blood follow suit but she did not look away.

Jareth had said human lives were mere blinks in time. Even animals understood. What was art but preserving the ephemeral. If he must leave, let him at least remember.

She felt each look he gave her, every curve and mark he traced on paper. And still she didn't look away nor move, the bitten peach still clutched against her pale thigh.

When the class ended, her arm was cramped and she shifted slowly. She pulled on the robe as the instructor thanked her for her time and noted it was her last session. There were scattered murmurs. Even the girl with the colour pastels looked disappointed. Sarah barely noticed, waiting until the room cleared out.

The Goblin King approached her, his satchel on his arm.

Silence stretched between them, the air still charged, until Sarah spoke. "My last session."

"And your best." The marks on his face were more pronounced.

"Are you really leaving now?"

"My time is up."

Sarah nodded slowly and then glanced at the bag. "Can I see it?"

Jareth shook his head. "This one is mine."

"Oh," she said softly. He'd earned his victory too. "I… it was good to see you again." It wasn't what she wanted to say but she meant it. She wanted to say more, something to stretch the moment like a painter stretches canvass.

"I wish you nothing but the best, Sarah." Jareth said. "Victor of my Labyrinth." And he looked like he wanted to say more. Instead he smiled, almost but not quite, and moved past her to the door.

She wished she could have stretched that moment too.

 _Wait._

Sarah was certain she had only thought it, not spoken. But he stopped all the same, arms bracing on the doorway.

Sarah felt her heart beat in her chest. _Stay._

His head turned slightly until their eyes met. His shadowed. Hers wide.

"You meant that." She wasn't sure if he intended it as a question or a statement.

She nodded slowly.

He turned fully then, sweeping back into the room like he was afraid she'd change her mind.

The electricity in the air was palpable. Sarah could feel it on her skin, on the drying sweetness of the peach that marked her body like a stain. She met him half way, like she was afraid too. When they connected it ignited.

He cupped her face. Her hands fell to his waist. She realized it was the first time they'd touched since he'd been back.

"Not so wise," she whispered.

"No," he agreed.

And then there were no more words. His lips were surprisingly soft, but firm against her mouth. When his tongue touched hers she tasted both him and peaches. Her hands curled against his ribs and the lithe muscles of his back. His threaded into her hair, angling her head until they best fit. His teeth scraped against her lightly and then descended to her neck.

Vaguely she heard voices in the hall. In that moment she didn't care where they were, she just didn't it to stop.

She must have meant that too because she felt him grin against her skin, and then a swift tug on her navel. When she looked up she was in a bedroom. She didn't need to ask where.

She looked at him accusingly. He looked unrepentantly back and then dragged her lips back to his. His hands hooked her closer by her hips and she remembered that she wore only the robe. Her breasts were pressed against his chest and he was pressed against her hip. She rubbed herself against him with a twist, and tugged his shirt from his pants. He let her pull the remaining buttons opens and hissed when her hands grazed his skin, trailing to his waist, as she pressed her lips to the hollow of this throat.

His hands rolled across her ribs as he found her breasts through the robe, brushing his thumbs against her already sensitive nipples. She sighed into his mouth and pushed the shirt from his shoulders, her hands splaying against his lightly muscled back.

When they came back around, he took them in his own and brought them to the tie of her robe.

She looked up dazedly, when he made no further move. "You've seen it all before," she said breathily, impatient to continue before she decided she was making a mistake.

His lips brushed her ear. "Yes, but never just for me."

The low words sent another twinge to her core. She squeezed her thighs together to capture the feeling.

As lovers he meant. Not artist and model.

It occurred to her then that this what this was. And perhaps she should take a moment more to think it through. She stuffed that thought down and pulled back. Untying the robe with deft hands. She let it fall open until you could see the shiny trail of nectar that ended at the damp curls. She pulled the sides open, letting the silk brush across her nipples and then drop to her elbows. Another dip and it slid across her hips and pooled on the floor.

His slow study was more intense than it had ever been in the studio. More intimate. More promising. She took his hands, her fingers brushing underneath the edge of leather. His eyes slid back to her face but he didn't stop her. She peeled them back slowly, her fingers slipping between his. Skin to skin. His fingers were long and pale. And then she brought them back to her breasts.

His mouth fell back to her neck and his tongue licked against her skin. He followed the peach trail down the hollow of her throat and then across until he sucked a nipple into his mouth. Those teeth scraping with just the right about of bite. He was stooped and Sarah bent, the sensation and angle making her legs wobble. Before she could react, he picked up and set her upon the nearest table – the wood startling cold against her skin. And then his mouth was back on the path, a final swirl over her breasts and then back down until his mouth and tongue and teeth scraped down her shivering stomach. She squirmed, gleaning his intent, until his hands clamped down on her hips to hold her in place. She held herself up on one arm, almost mirroring what she'd done in the studio.

As he brushed her navel with his mouth, a slim finger slid across her slick folds and then pressed between gently, circling until he heard the tell-tale hiss and felt her body seize in response. He did it again, faster and more firmly. A moment later and his tongue joined his hand, rolling against her clit. His other hand spread her folds and he slid a finger into the heat within. Sarah clamped around him in a spasm. He sucked until he found the right rhythm, another finger joining the first and then hooking inside.

Sarah's head had fallen back and her hands had slipped into his wild hair. She was gripping it tightly, her fingers furled in a fist, but he didn't complain. She forced them to relax but then tightened again when he hit that perfect spot again and she felt her legs shaking. And still she wanted more. She pulled his head up, he resisted for a moment, but then allowed it as she dragged his mouth to hers. She tasted herself and peaches on his tongue. It only excited her more.

It burned him too, she could feel him rock hard against her hip. She gripped him gently through his pants, feeling the long thick shape of him. He groaned against her mouth and then nipped at her chin with his uneven teeth as she stroked him. When she tried to slip within his pants but failed he slid back and then pulled her gently up by her hands. He drew her to feet, steadying her when she wobbled, and then backed her towards the bed. As they moved, she managed to unbutton his pants enough to tug him free. His erection bobbed a moment before she curled a hand around him and stroked. When her knees his the edge she sat down hard, her eyes rising to his face.

His were fully marked again, his hair as untamed. The Goblin King once more.

Dropping her hand down his chest, she leaned forward and opened her lips around his tip. She swirled her tongue as he'd done on her breast and then licked down his length, cupping his balls and lightly squeezing, before drawing him fully into her mouth. He hissed sharply and his hands curled into her hair, smoothing across her cheeks as he watched her. His lids falling.

She could feel a tension building, like a coil about to spring, until he pulled her free and pushed her back. She shifted backwards on the bed, her elbows supporting herself, and let her slick thighs part.

Jareth looked like a beast about to devour and then he was sliding against her, skin to skin and breath to breath. He kissed her again deeply, but somehow slowly like he was savouring a surrender. Hers or his, she wasn't sure. He wasn't either. His hand splayed against her neck and then moved down, cupping her heavy breast for a moment before slipping down and hooking beneath her knee to find his angle. His eyes on her face, he slid into her.

Sarah bowed back with the intense feeling of being filled, and she curled her other leg around his thighs to cage the feeling. In that moment, she'd never wanted anything more. She must have meant it because his lips parted and he stared down at her before kissing her so hard it almost hurt.

As though to say, he meant it too.

After a few more rough strokes – where finesse is replaced by urgency - they found their rhythm. Sarah was panting in a way she might have been embarrassed by had it not been consumed by sensation. It helped that Jareth looked like he was slowly coming apart. His mouth and teeth and hands were everywhere. Every thrust hit her deeply and when his fingers slid between them and rolled against her clit, the desire that had been slowly building since she'd first bitten the peach built until she wanted to scream. He maddeningly slowed his pace. Her hands clutched his arms and then scraped down his back and cupped his cheeks. She rolled her hips until he hit a spot that was that elusive hit of pleasure pain and then clamped her legs around his flanks to hold onto the sensation for as long as possible.

But he was stronger than her and he wouldn't be contained. Another thrust and more of those expert fingers and she was undone. He paused long enough to watch her face and stroke her cheek as she let go. And he surrendered too, his mouth hotly around a breast and his hands lifting her thighs.

For a moment there was only the sound of laboured breaths and blood rushing back to the head. He pressed a slow kiss against the corner of her mouth and then deftly collapsed to her side. The air cooled her heated skin.

Neither spoke and for a moment they might have even dozed, until she felt him shift, his bare hand playing idly at her breast. _Expertly._

She turned to see his face.

His eyes suggested he was looking for any regrets. His mouth suggested he would offer no apologies. She smiled and his expression changed again. Her body was slick with sweat, the remnants of a peach and the remnants of their desire. She desperately needed a shower, she thought idly.

Jareth looked like he was in no hurry to see her washed clean, his hands tracing every mark he'd left on her before dipping back to the dampness between her long legs. "Hungry?"

"Ravenous."

"As am I but we'll feed you first."

Sarah pulled a face but felt her body betray her with a shiver of anticipation.

"I'm not sure I should accept food from you."

"You wound me again, Sarah. Do you think so little of me I would need to trap you?" He playfully bit her nipple with a growl, and then looked at her slyly. "Besides it would already be too late."

Sarah's face screwed up. "I knew the peach was yours."

"And yet," his lips dipped to hers, nipping their too. "You took a bite anyway. Foolish girl."

She kissed him back. "You wouldn't trap me." She must have meant it because he grinned against her mouth.

He was hard against her thigh again.

"What happens now?" She hadn't meant to ask it, had promised never to ask that too soon.

He rolled her on top of him, hissing slightly as she her wet heat slid against him. "Now that you've conquered me again, I ask you to stay and you say no again." There was a twinge of truth beneath his words that made Sarah still. She didn't want to say no. He'd found his way within her in more ways than one.

"Are you asking me to stay?" She asked as she slid down around him carefully.

Jareth's hands droppd to her waist, gripping tightly but he let her control their movements. "I'm asking you for everything."

Sarah rolled her hips, watching his reaction. "And what are you offering?"

"Everything," he said darkly. Eyes roving over her form with open hunger.

She rolled her hips again, her breasts bouncing and back arching. Her own control fractured as his thumb dropped to her slit. It was hard to think. She knew she wanted her independence – her dreams above. She knew she wanted him. Now and again. And again.

"I don't know what I want. I want my life. I want this. I want you." She said breathlessly. She must have meant it.

His thumb stilled and he rolled them again, until she was beneath him again, his hands cupping her face, his thumb brushing her swollen lip instead. "You always find the right words."

They finished roughly – teeth and nails and violent thrusts that would leave bruises and aches that would call for a soothing bath much later. It would end in slick bodies bent over the side of the tub and a gentler pace that slowly rocked the water.

Spent, they coiled in bed, too freshly united to talk of logistics. Of how Sarah could have her cake and eat it too. He stroked her back in lazy circles.

"What would you have done if I had not said stay?"

"Waited. Found a way back again."

Sarah nodded against his chest, pleased. "And what would you have done if I said I wanted to go home forever?"

Those fingers stilled. "Do you really want to know, Sarah?"

"Maybe not," she paused. "Can I see them?"

He didn't need to ask what. The walls filled one by one with his drawings.

He'd lied. He had skill, and she thought, he'd been generous but precise – each detail of her body rendered with explicit detail. The final one, the one he'd said was just for him, shocked her the most. It was just her face, he eyes the most complete as though he'd been faithfully trying to capture her expression.

"They're beautiful," she said quietly. Her hand curling possessively on his chest. "You've captured me well."

"Yes," he agreed against her hair and then fell silent.

"What are you thinking?" It was another question she'd promised not to ask.

 _Of taking you again. Of keeping you forever. Of being kept by you._ "I was thinking of holding my first art exhibition. The Goblins could use the culture and they deserve to see the rather incredible talents of their king."

Sarah laughed and pushed herself up to look at his face. She sobered at the calculated glint in his eyes.

"Jareth," she said warningly.

 **The End**

* * *

 **AN:** Phew done! Hope you enjoyed – please let me know what you think!

This was inspired by some background I have Sarah in Tanglewood, and I decided to finally just write it while working on chapter 14.

I draw in my spare time and have done since I was really young. I took a few classes in university where I sketched live nude models for the first time. It's amazing how beautiful you find the human form (any age or shape) when you begin to draw it. Try it one day (either live drawing or posing) if you haven't.

 _We don't make mistakes, just happy little accidents._  
 **Bob Ross**


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